Persons Unknown

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE NIGHT OF NIGHTS: THE PRINCESS IN THE TRANSFORMATION SCENE

  If the police believed Christina when she revived enough to say that ithad seemed to her as if the hair were soaked in blood it was more thanHerrick did. He only wondered that they let her go and if they wereperhaps not spreading a net about her as they had spread one aboutDenny.

  But thereafter she was very composed, allowed herself to be takenquietly home, and took a sedative so as to get some sleep. Herrick camein from an errand at four and found the house subdued to the ordinaryatmosphere--high-pressured enough in itself--of the house of an actressbefore a big first night.

  Down in the drawing-room Mrs. Hope said they must not talk aboutanything exciting or Christina would be sure to feel it. But she herselfseemed to feel that the fact of her coming appearance in the Inghams'box was about the only satisfactory piece of calmness in connection withher daughter's future. She congratulated herself anew upon the outcomeof an old bout with Christina in which the girl had wished to go tosupper afterward with Wheeler rather than with the devoted Inghams, andin which Mrs. Hope had unwontedly conquered. She said now that shewished she had spoken to the Inghams about inviting Herrick; it couldhave been arranged so easily.

  When Christina came in she allowed herself to be fondly questioned as tohow she felt and even to be petted and pitied. She was perhaps no morelike a person in a dream than she would have been before the sameoccasion if Ingham had never been shot; when she spoke at all she variedbetween the angelic and the snappish; and before very long she excusedherself and went to her room. She was to have a light supper sent up andMrs. Hope adjured Herrick not to worry!

  He duly sent his roses and his telegram of good wishes, but that shecould really interest herself in the play at such a time seemed horribleto him and he arrived at the theater still puzzled and rather resentfulof the intrusion of this unreal issue.

  But the first thrill of the lighted lobby, glowing and odorous with thestands of Christina's flowers; the whirr of arriving motors; the shiningof jeweled and silken women with bare shoulders and softly pluming hair;the expectant crowd; the managerial staff, in sacrificial evening dress,smiling nervously, catching their lips with their teeth; the busymovements of uniformed ushers; the clapping down of seats; the high,light chatter, a little forced, a little false, sparkling against thememory of those darker issues that clung about Christina's skirts; thewhole, thrilling, judging, waiting house; all this began to affectHerrick like strong drink on jaded nerves. From his seat in the thirdrow he observed Mrs. Hope and the Inghams take their places; theattention of the audience leaped like lightning on them. Just then oneman came into the box opposite and drawing his chair into its veryfront, sat down. It was Cuyler Ten Euyck.

  Herrick forgot him quickly enough. It was a real play, acted by realartists; the production held together by a master hand; and it continuedto string up Herrick's nerves even while to himself he scarcely seemedto notice it. He had had no idea that it would be so terrible to livethrough the moment of Christina's entrance. He sat with his eyes on hisprogram, suffering her nervousness, feeling under what an awful handicapshe was waiting there, the other side of that painted canvas, to loseor win. There was the wracking suspense of waiting for her, and then, asin a dream, the sound of her voice. Her dear, familiar voice! She wasthere! She was there; radiant, unshadowed, exulting in the flood oflight, at home, at ease; softly, shyly, proudly bending to the swiftwelcome and carrying, after that, the hearts of the audience in herhand. She had only to go on, now, from triumph to triumph; her sun swamto the meridian and blazed there with a splendid light. Mrs. Hope withlowered eyes, breathed deep of a success that passed her dreams; TenEuyck, compressing his lips, his arms folded, never took his eyes fromChristina's face. And Bryce Herrick, watching her move, watching herspeak, not accepting this, as did the public, for a gift from heaven,but aware to the bone of its being all made ground, of the art that hadlifted her as it were from off the wrack into this divine power ofbreathing and creating loveliness, could have dropped down before herand begged to be forgiven.

  Who was he to have judged her?--to-day or last night? to have exactedfrom her a line of conduct? to have tried to force upon her the motivesand the standards of tame, of ordinary women? He remembered having oftensmiled, however tenderly, at her pretensions; not having taken quiteseriously her attitude to her work. And here was a genius of the firstorder, whose gifts and whose beauty would remain a happy legend in thehearts of men when he was dust; whose name youth would carry on its lipsfor inspiration when no one would care that he had ever been born! Oh,dear and beautiful Diana who had stooped to a mortal! For this was thesecret thrill that ran like wildfire through the homage of hisheart--the knowledge that she loved him, and the feel of her lips onhis!

  Let them worship, poor creatures, poor mob! Unknowing and unguessingthat between him and her there was a bond that crossed thefootlights--the memory of a dark room and firelight, a girl in hisarms.--"Bryce dear, are we engaged? You haven't said?--I've wantedyou--Oh, how I've wanted you--all my life!"--At the end of theperformance it was impossible not to try to see her; not to get a wordwith her, to confess and to have absolution.

  But at the stage-door there were so many people that he could not haveendured to share his minute with them. He knew the Babel that it must beinside, and he decided to wait here; by-and-by the Inghams wouldn'tgrudge him a moment. They seemed to stay forever; but at last all weregone but two or three, and he decided to send in his card. As he steppedforward the door opened, and Christina, in the oblong of light, stooddrawing on her gloves.

  She was dressed as if for a coronation and not even upon the stage hadthe effulgence of her beauty seemed so drawn together for conquest. Herlong white gown had threads of silver in it; the white cloak thrown backfrom her shoulders did not conceal her lovely throat nor the long stringof diamonds that to Herrick's amazement were twisted round her neck andfell down along her breast; she carried on one arm a great white sheafof orchids, and Iphigenia led to the sacrifice was surely not so pale.

  Upon her appearance the closed motor which had been waiting across thestreet swept into place. It was a magnificent car, lined with white; thelittle curtains at the windows were drawn back and a low electric lampshowed the swinging vases of orchids and white violets. Christina turnedher eyes from it till they met Herrick's; for a moment they widened asif galvanized, and then, with a sweet, icy bow, she went right past him.A man who had jumped out of the motor got in after her, and closed thedoor. It was the man who had sat all alone in the stage box; Cuyler TenEuyck.